Ambiguous
by kabukimono
Summary: Some nights are better than others. One night on Grandship is full of nightmares, healing, loneliness, and company. Spoilers for Chapter 5 and beyond.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: **SPOILERS for CHAPTER 5 AND ONWARD**

Content warning for slight suicide ideation.

* * *

Some nights are better than others. Some nights he doesn't wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, mouth dry and stomach churning, heart racing until he's picked out every single one of his three companions sleeping in the quiet air. He doesn't mistake shadows for blood and the pale moonlight for the pallor of death.

Some nights he doesn't slip out of bed and stumble noiselessly out of the room he shares with the three other warriors of light, right underneath the bridge aboard the giant airship they've taken to calling home in this world and the past. Doesn't drag himself to the edge of the deck for a breath of fresh air, arms tight around himself in a futile attempt to subdue the shivering that overtakes him from the chill inside and out. Doesn't succumb to the pain in his head and chest and upend the contents of his stomach over the side of the worn railing, tears trailing down his face and mixing with the bile, just missing the loose black undershirt he wears that is very little protection against the elements.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

Ringabel kneels beside the railing, gripping it until he can feel the splinters penetrate his skin. Good. The pain brings him something to focus on, to distract from the afterimages of death that still linger behind his eyes. He can almost taste the blood in the air, pooling across the old wood of the deck he stands on now - and he inhales sharply, letting his eyes slip shut.

Some nights he is unable to sleep at all for the nightmares - memories - that plague him.

Sighing deeply, the taste of sick still heavy in his mouth and the back of his throat, he pulls himself up and leans over the railing, rubbing his face with tender, sore fingers. They've moored for the night off the coast of Eisen. Grandship, for as old as it is, makes a wonderful, near impenetrable fortress. Very few could take them by surprise like this, aside from perhaps Alternis Dim…

The thought of that man, his old self, makes him sigh. It seems as though with each passing day and night, more of his memories return, and it makes it harder and harder to reconcile the Ringabel-that-is with the Alternis-that-was. Where one died and the other was born only for to die in exchange for the original. His eyes slide over the patch of wood that marked where Alternis - any Alternis - had fallen over the edge and into oblivion, fingers trailing over scored marks the man's armor had left in the wood, as though to memorialize his greatest failures.

Without thinking, telling himself he simply wants to get a better look, Ringabel climbs easily over the railing at that very spot, eyes fixed on the darkness below, his hand keeping an easy grip to prevent an accident. At this height the skies underneath the ship are nothing but a black void, nothing like the bright light and churning waves that would have been at the base of the Holy Pillar. If he concentrates he can make out the waves reflecting bits of the light of the stars.

His head feels light. His hand is cramping and burning, the splinters digging in deeper as his grip tightens. If the old railing were to give away under his weight...

"Ringabel?"

Edea's voice is sleepy but there's a touch of fright behind the question. The name.

Just like that he snaps back into his skin. That's right. He is Ringabel, at least to them. Rakish, yet responsible.. Their guide - quite literally, as the only one to pilot Grandship - and yet a person they can happily ignore with ease. A part of him wishes she had ignored his flight from their room. And the other part of him feels guilty that she should find him in such a state.

He hops back over the edge of the railing without a word, his movement the only acknowledgement that he's heard her and busies himself with examining his hands for splinters, even though they both know he can't see them in the dim light.

After a moment, after he's gathered himself back up, he speaks, finding that he's unable to look at her, his eyes drifting away to the path she's walked on to find him, seeing no sign of the others. "I hope I didn't wake you, Edea. You need your rest, after all."

She dismisses his comment with a shake of her tousled blonde hair, the movement causing his eyes to flicker over and take in the sight of her. His beautiful angel, clad in a light white shift and slacks that hug her hips, make her glow in the light from the skies above and the few torches left burning. She is alive and healthy, a fact that simultaneously makes his heart swell as much as it does hurt. "No, that's not it. I just…" She trails off, but the rest of her sentence is understood.

Like himself, like Tiz and Agnes, Edea has been plagued by nightmares of late. It's no wonder, after all. All of them have lost something, wounds that have held hostage their hearts. But while his, Agnes, and Tiz's wounds are old wounds that are unable to close, festering with hurt despite the time and care given to treatments, Edea's heart is subject to new lashes and punctures with every new world they visit, every familiar face. Each time she faces her master, her comrades, her father, her pain and her nightmares grow in number. It hurts him to see her suffer so, but there are some wounds that cannot be dressed with bandages, or cured with a potion.

She continues while he's lost in his musing (or while he's distracted by the stunning sight that is a half-dressed, vulnerable Edea Lee).

"What were you doing?" He can tell she is trying not to sound accusatory, or curious, but it's strained, either way. He's scared her, and he feels guilty immediately. He wants to ease her pain, not cause it anew.

He deflects the topic, something he's gotten so good at doing. "I felt a little ill, so I thought a bit of fresh air would help. Perhaps there was something amiss with dinner tonight."

She pauses. "If you really want to tell the Proprietress that she gave you food poisoning, be my guest."

It's that simple statement that breaks the tension over them both. He laughs, the sound noisy and sharp in the quiet night. "Well, perhaps it wasn't her food after all. Don't tell her... I do rather enjoy eating." But she's smiling at him now, despite the apprehension in her eyes that will never fade. Not while she's looking at him. At him, _Ringabel_.

She moves to stand closer, to join him at the railing, and he moves aside to give her room, jumping when their arms brush against each other. He had thought himself past such flustered movements, but it catches him off guard either way and he jumps, the slight contact sending electricity coursing through his veins. How pathetic he was.

They stand quietly for a few moments. As peaceful as silence can usually be, he finds himself unnerved that this woman of all people can be so quiet and introspective. As long as he can remember - and that memory is fractured and broken, clouded over with darkness and the deep red of pools of blood - she has been lively and loud. So bright and sunny, his sun and his guiding light, the same as her father.

Her voice drags him away from his thoughts again. Shameful as it is, he had been lost in them. The night, with its suffocating darkness, is so easy to get lost in. The more he regains his memories, the more comfortable darkness is to him.

"I'm sorry, my dear, can you repeat that?" He asks lightly, making sure to inflect his voice just so.

She makes an annoyed vocalization. "What's wrong with you, Ringabel? You've never been like this before!" He can tell that he's scared her, with his pains and the way she's just found him and he immediately feels like he is the worst person in the world. His hand twitches as though it wants to reach out to her and intertwine around her own, but instead he tucks it under his other arm.

She's quiet for another moment. "Will you tell me? What's happening?" Her plea is sincere, born of concern for her friend.

He swallows hard. He probably should. It's only right, after all, that Edea knows about his memories returning, about the dread in his stomach and the cause of the agony in his head each time a new crystal is awakened. She has kneeled beside him on more than one occasion as he's bitten back tears from both the pain and the visions that have knocked him out, her hand warm and comforting on his back. Tiz already knows. Agnes already knows. And he will be damned if Airy knows before Edea does.

"I…. remember." He forces himself to say. "I've regained most of my memory." The important bits, at least. There's still gaps here and there, years at a time missing where he can't explain how he grew from being the abandoned child Alternis Dim, covered in the muck of Florem's slums, to the Dark Knight Alternis Dim, draping himself in the darkness willingly and serving as right hand to the Templar. How it happened doesn't matter. Just that it did.

"Really?" She turns to face him, and her hand grips his forearm. "But, that's a good thing, right?" Perhaps it should be, aside from the headaches that result from years of memory flooding back in. He avoids her gaze.

Ringabel repeats the same statement he'd said to Tiz, taking the easy way out. "I'm not so sure."

She's waiting for an explanation, he can tell. He can feel her eyes searching his face, her gaze burning over the hard set of his lips, the dried tracks from the tears he hadn't quite bothered to wipe away. He can hear her take a breath. To yell at him, to inquire more, he doesn't know. But suddenly he's frightened of what she could say, and he barrels on.

"I am the Dark Knight Alternis Dim."

Silence descends over them both, and his eyes wander over to the pathway both of them have taken to get to this point. It's empty. Neither of their roommates have noticed their absence. Datz or Zatz have not noticed the intruders on the deck.

"Ringabel…." Edea's voice is soft, and trails off. "I figured as much.".

He looks at her, surprised. "You… you knew?" Something, something like anger or disbelief that she could keep such a secret from him rises from the pit of his stomach. He feels hurt, inside and out, heart and head.

Edea shakes her head, and her arms wrap around her own torso. Despite the feeling of pain in his chest, he wants to take her into his arms and apologize. "No, I didn't. I didn't know what to think at first. It's been years since I've seen Alternis' face, what with the asterisk and the helmet… but when he fell overboard, and we were suddenly transported to a new world, I had other things on my mind."

"Other things," He repeats, his voice forcefully even. Other things?!

"I knew you looked similar but I thought it was just a… resemblance! There are other people we've met - in the same world - who looked similar. And you were nothing like him. You're… Ringabel. He's Alternis."

"I am the Alternis of the world before the one we met." He finds himself explaining. "Just as we've been transported to a new Caldisla each time, so too did I find myself in the Caldisla where we met, my memories of my past gone." He suddenly does not want to be having this conversation. Not now. Not like this...

Edea continues, unable to look at him, her arms wrapping tighter around herself. "When we first started noticing the new worlds… Maybe I didn't want to believe it. If you were Alternis, where was your Edea? Your Tiz and Agnes?"

She's not helping.

Ringabel swallows hard, his headache pounding harder behind his eyes.

"I…" How does he explain what he saw? He's mentioned before that he'd seen visions of Edea dying, only to have been met with harsh rebuke. He can't handle that ridicule again, not right now. Not when the vision of his beloved dying in his arms is transposed over the figure of the lovely lady in front of him.

It turns out he doesn't have to. Edea places her hand on his arm, warm and soft despite the chill in the area. "It's…" It's not okay. "You don't have to explain. You're alone." Her eyes, so clear and blue and full of sadness are also full of understanding.

He exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and the strength in his muscles escape along with it. His knees buckle and he grips the railing tightly as he lowers himself to the deck. Edea follows, and her arms wrap around his shoulders, the touch burning as he lowers his head to hide his face in her shoulder. Nausea and pain rise up again and he nearly retches.

"But… but you have us!" The poor woman continues, her voice bewildered at the sudden display of vulnerability from a man usually known as so composed. Her fingers dig into his skin almost painfully, a pain he gladly accepts as he leans against her, lifting a hand to clutch her arm. He is like a child, clinging to the woman he loves for comfort, but she says nothing and one of her warm hands moves up to run her fingers through his messy, damp hair, her cheek resting tightly against his temple. He can feel tears and doesn't know who they belong to.

They stay like that for a few moments, Ringabel soaking in the warmth of Edea's touch before he finally pulls away, embarrassed as much as he is comforted. "I'm sorry. Forgive me," he says, unsure of what exactly he's apologizing for. His past failures or his breakdown, or perhaps both. Perhaps everything. This is not exactly how he had planned on letting Edea know about his memories.

She's pouting, from what he can see in the light, and her cheeks are wet before she wipes them with the back of her hands. "There's nothing to forgive, Ringabel." She says, almost sullenly. And when he opens his mouth to tell her that yes, yes there is there, there are so many things he needs to beg her forgiveness for, beg Tiz and Agnes their forgiveness for, the Templar, the whole world even, she cuts off his protest with her mouth, her fingers grasping tightly onto the collar of his shirt.

Anything he might have said instead becomes a woefully inarticulate noise of surprise against Edea's earnest and inexperienced lips. Their teeth bang together, and he feels the sharp twinge of his lip being cut somehow along with the taste of blood that accompanies it, but Edea's hands are strong at his collar and he closes his eyes, tilting his head to make them both more comfortable. His heart and his head are pounding, but the brief comfort he feels is worth it, at last for a few moments.

He doesn't deserve this, not one bit, and that knowledge causes the pounding all too soon turns to sharper pain. He pulls away, breathing out a pained moan against her lips, bringing a hand up to cradle his head as he tries to steady himself against the railing. Ringabel - Alternis - Ringabel thinks that he is the most despicable person on the planet (save Old Man DeRosa, at least). He doesn't know what to think of anything now.

Edea notices his pain of course, even if she can't notice his internal self-loathing. "Okay," she breathes, and Ringbel peeks one eye open to glance at her face, noticing how red it seems in the scant light. His own feels hot enough to match. "Let's get you inside. You need to rest."

"Of course, my dear." He hardly has the energy to argue with her even if he wanted to, and stands unsteadily. Were it any night but tonight - any world but this one - he might happily invite her into his own bed so that they can continue where they left off, but now…? The idea of blissful, peaceful darkness is more appealing than his angel's arms. What is he becoming?


	2. Chapter 2

Edea can see quite plainly that Ringabel is a mess, a complete and total mess. Externally, he's sweaty and pale, his hair limp and sticking to his face, the glory of the pompadour destroyed. He looks especially gangly and thin in the shadows, shaking slightly in the cold night. She doesn't know how long he's been awake tonight, and how many times the past few nights he's woken up like this, but it's obvious the man needs to get some sleep before he falls right over. And his state internally, mentally... he's never really been completely _all there_ but it's not her place to judge anymore.

She licks her lips hesitantly, the slight tang of copper dissipating, as she watches him try regain enough control to make it back to the inn without support. Her mouth still feels weird. A little sore? Just... weird. Ringabel hasn't been acting like himself lately, and that's a been a little sad, so it was her duty as his friend to help him in any way she can. Maybe she'd taken it a little too far with the kiss, but how else was she supposed to convey everything to him?

That they're here for him - _she's_ here for him. He's her friend. He's two of her friends, really. And that for as annoying he can be, and perverted, and weird, he's still her friend and she's going to look after him as much as he's looked after her, especially when he's on the edge of losing his mind. She'll protect him.

Her mind slips back to the moment she'd woken up, jarred out of an uneasy sleep by the noise of the door shutting behind him. In the darkness, she had seen Tiz rise as well, and the two of them had shared a brief look before she'd made the decision to follow Ringabel, leaving Tiz behind with Agnes, just in case. She hadn't known what she'd see, but her heart jumped at the memory of him standing on the wrong side of the railing, looking down, his face cold and distant.

Stupid Ringabel.

Didn't he know they cared about him? That he was more than just his fractured memories. He was the person whose book had guided them in their journey, reassured them that they were taking the right path. The person who'd guided them. The person they could count on, whether it be for a comment in poor taste or a weird compliment to cheer them them on. He was… probably the best friend she'd ever had.

In this world and the past.

"Come on, old man." She grumbles, taking him by the arm. He starts, jumping and instinctively tugging his arm away from her, but her grip is firm and she leads - half drags - him back up the path to the inn, away from the railing and the darkness beyond.

Ringabel is stubborn but he knows when to quit, if nothing else, and after the initial surprised stumbling, his footsteps are light and firm beside her as he regains his control. She no longer leads him, but instead they walk together toward the tiny inn aboard the ship they own (commandeered, more like). She still feels a little uncomfortable, like she's intruded on something private, like his memories were never meant to be shared, least of all with her, but Ringabel's no longer falling to pieces in front of her, leaving her helpless and without a clue as to how to fix him.

Edea's more about breaking things. Taking things apart to get to the root of the matter and examine their inner workings. It's fun! But when it comes to fixing things, to piecing together shards and fragments that are supposed to make a whole, she's a little less experienced. Ringabel isn't even technically whole… as much as the thought feeds her guilt. She steals a glance at him.

His color has improved, or perhaps that is simply the lighting inside the lobby of the inn as opposed to the torchlight and stars outside on the deck. His skin still shines with a thin sheen of sweat, and she eyes his hair with distaste when she notes how it clings to his temples. His pompadour is always ruined after a night of sleep, but it seems in worst shape than usual, whether due to the winds on the deck or the tossing and turning he had done. She doesn't know.

"You're not going to sleep like that, are you?" The words are out of her mouth before she knows what she's saying, and Ringabel's hand pauses on the door to the room they share with Tiz and Agnes even now. He glances back at her, eyebrow raised.

"What do you mean?"

He's so gross and sweaty; Edea feels icky just looking at him and their close contact gives her more than enough opportunity to take in his smell - sweat is one thing, but this smells like sick. She can't even imagine how rank his bedsheets will be in the morning.

"You're a mess, Ringabel." And he must be in worse shape than she thought if he didn't notice, or didn't care. Someone has to.

Ringabel pauses, his hand slipping off the door knob so that he can face her, that hand instead slipping up to rake through his hair in an attempt to tame it, if only he had a mirror. For a moment, he is Ringabel again. Annoying. Weird. "Would you like me to freshen up, Edea? Would it make it easier for you to stay the night by my side if I did so?"

She nods. "Yes, actually. That's it exactly."

He did not expect that. His grayish eyes widen slightly, and that hand drops uselessly to his side. She always enjoys making him shut up.

"Er," he articulates. "Well, then."

She's reminded of the conversation that they'd had - in the first world (second, for him?) after she sprung him out of prison. When she'd invited him out on a date. When he'd been too flustered, surprised to take her up on it. How she'd made fun of him. It seems like a lifetime ago, but the memory of it warms her. Encourages her. Reminds her that there will always be a way to pull him out of his stupid dark thoughts.

Ringabel swallows hard, his cheeks growing red. "If it... truly bothers you, I'll go and…"

"I'll go with you!" She exclaims, and doesn't quite miss the look of horror and mortification that dawns in his eyes. A look she cheerfully ignores as she tugs his hand away from the door and toward the washroom just down the hall.

"I hardly think this is necessary, Edea." Ringabel chokes out, but he follows her anyway (as if he had a choice). "It wouldn't be proper for a young lady to see a man in such a state!"

She looks back at him, eyebrows raised, as she nudges the washroom door open with her free hand. "What state? What are you talking about, Ringabel?" She means to scold him for whatever weird thoughts he's thinking, but he does have a point. She's bathed with Agnes plenty of times, and he and Tiz have shared baths to save water for as long as she can remember, but they've always kept the sexes separate, for several reasons. She doesn't exactly intend to bathe with him, but it's the first time that they'll share a washroom at the same time.

She tells herself it's because she wants to make sure he won't fall asleep and drown, which he is likely to do in his state - it wouldn't be the first time he'd fallen asleep in a bath. And so that he knows he isn't alone with his suffering. So that he doesn't have to _be_ alone, cooped up in a quiet room with nothing but his thoughts and the sound of water, even if the washroom is much brighter than the outdoors. And she knows she's right. The idea of Ringabel alone in that quiet room is... frightening. She can handle a little nudity for his sake - she's not as shy as Agnes or even Tiz, who still have problems when someone shifts into certain Asterisk clothing.

He attempts to give her a bright, flashy smile. It falls flat. "I mean, a man shouldn't show himself to a lady at anything less than his best. I'll be out shortly, I promise."

"No," she tells him, and there's conviction behind her words that kills any other protests he may have. She knows what she's doing.

The world right now is white. White reflected in the tile underneath their feet and reflected in his pale skin. Her actions right now are entirely right. To protect him. To be there for him.

Alternis - Ringabel. They both have fancied themselves her protector for as long as she's known them. But isn't she his protector too? She swallows, and her face feels hot. She's wholly convinced that her actions - the meaning behind them, the reason behind them - are pure, but that doesn't make it easier, not when he's so broken and she still doesn't know how to piece him back together. She's never known how to piece him together, neither Ringabel or the Alternis she's grown up with.

"I won't…" Look. She trails off, then continues. "Just take a bath! I'll be right here. She turns away, crossing her arms and glaring at the far wall, stamping her feet firmly on the ground.

For a few long moments there is silence. Then slowly, painfully slowly, she hears the sounds of Ringabel crossing over to the large wash bin and pouring water into it from the pipes that lead to a giant tank outside. As a ship in the middle of the sky or the ocean, Grandship doesn't have much in the way of fresh water, but for the sake of cooking and cleanliness, they do collect some nearly every day from fresh water lakes, even if they sometimes have to ration it. She listens to the water, trying to judge how far he's gotten by the sound of it.

"You don't have to do this," Ringabel says a few agonizing moments later, one last ditch effort to rid himself of her. His voice is strained, even to her ears.

Edea shakes her head, her cheeks still red. There's no straying from her chosen path now. "I'm right here, Ringabel."

To that, the man says nothing more, and she listens to the sound of his clothing sliding across his limbs before hitting the floor, to the sound of him entering the water. He hadn't even heated it up, it sounds like. All he's going to do is make himself sick.

She brings her hands to her cheeks despite the urge to resist doing so. She doesn't want him to see her doing so. Doesn't want him to think there's something wrong with him. It isn't him at all.

Ringabel sighs, whether out of embarrassment, or because he's noticed the movement, or because he's comfortable. She can't tell.

"My lovely princess," he says, and she thinks to when Alternis used to call her that when they were children, when she forced him to play the knight to rescue Princess Edea, and then to play the princess that Knight Edea would rescue… "There's no need for you to remain here. I'm quite comfortable. Thank you."

His thanks is genuine, she can tell. But also genuine is the loneliness in his voice. The pain. "How's your head?" She asks instead. His head, his broken, damaged head that has caused him so much pain of late.

He pauses. "It's getting better." He says nothing more, and she listens to the sound of the water gently rolling over him as he washes up. She doesn't have to see him to know how uncomfortable he is with this. Alternis has worn that all-encompassing Dark Knight armor for years. Ringabel has wrapped himself in his own armor, both mental and physical, since before they'd met. Like this, he's completely bare and vulnerable in front of her, of all people. He must hate it.

"Will you wash my hair?" He asks, and there's an edge to voice that she recognizes. Oh, it's a dare. He thinks she won't do it. He might be right.

She takes a deep breath. He might be wrong.

"Oh, sure! I'd love to!" She replies, and though her mind immediately questions her decision-making, she's already turned around to face him before she processes that advice.

Ringabel's eyes are wide, his hands holding a wet washcloth to his chest as though it may afford him some semblance of modesty. His hair is damp, cleanly damp at least, clinging to his face and neck as water droplets roll down his exposed arms, skin paler on his chest and legs than it is on his arms.

She can't help it. She laughs. Because she genuinely finds his discomfort amusing. And because she doesn't know what else to do in times like this.

He at least has the sense of mind to look mildly offended, lowering the cloth down to his lap. "I'm glad someone is entertained by this, at least." But there's warmth behind his words.

"You still need me to wash your hair?" She offers. This isn't too weird.

There's a pause before he answers, his eyes on his hands in his lap. "Yes."

The answer is simple enough, and Edea moves closer, kneeling on the floor beside the washbin - for only a moment before she stands, dismayed and shocked. "Ringabel! There's water on the floor!" And now her last clean pair of sleeping clothes are wet below the knee. The feeling is uncomfortable, and she eyes the floor with distaste before noting how wet the washbin itself is as well. Water is wet.

"Ah, forgive me. I'm messier than it seems." He leans over the edge, keeping the cloth in his lap, to inspect the tile. He's so busy doing so, that he does not notice Edea slipping her pants off her hips until she nearly hits him in the face with an errant pant leg. "Wh-what are you doing?!" He exclaims, eyes closing (either because of the close call or because he's caught a glimpse of her legs, she isn't sure). Funny, she thought she would have been happy looking.

"This is my last clean pair." And tomorrow isn't laundry day, she thinks grumpily. If this doesn't dry cleanly, maybe she can borrow some clothes from Agnes. "You want me to wash your hair, right? I can't do it like this."

His voice has risen to an interesting octave. "Then there is no need- I can wash it alone. Please Edea." He all but begs. "I can take care of myself."

This she is firm on. "Ringabel. I'll wash your hair for you." I'll take care of you. So let me take care of you like you try to take care of us. I'm not leaving you alone… is left unsaid.

The white shift she wears as a top to bed joins her slacks on the far edge of the room, folded messily on top of a clean towel (his clothes smell just as foul as he did, after all. She doesn't know what he's going to wear back to the room). Despite her conviction, Edea wraps her arms around her bare chest and moves quickly, quietly, to the edge of the washbin. Ringabel is hunched over, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, his head tucked down. He might be shaking. Whether that's due to the chill of being half submerged in water or for some other reason, she doesn't know, though she wants to find out.

Her fingers gently slide into wet hair, catching not-so-gently on tangles.

"It's alright," she tells him. Because she thinks he needs to hear. "I don't mind."

He lifts his head to look at her. "Edea," his voice sounds desperate.

As soon as their eyes meet, she headbutts him. His cry of surprise is quite honest. Well Edea, she thinks, that probably didn't help his headache. Good going.

"If you really want me to go, I'll go." She says. Because even she isn't so cruel. He's nursing the bump on his forehand with a slightly wrinkled hand, cringing. "But you're my friend, Ringabel. And you're more than that, too. You're one of my most precious friends. So please, let me take care of you."

His eyes search her face - and nothing but her face, she can tell he's straining to keep his eyes above her shoulders. He swallows twice before he answers. "Alright. Please stay."

The water is warmer with two people in it, she finds, as she settles easily behind him. And the washbin is big enough for both of them, though his legs are bent, and her own are a little cramped on either side of his hips. But Ringabel's always been a solid warmth in those rare moments she's been close enough to discover such and that is no exception now, as she scrubs a new wet washcloth across the skin of his back and wrings it over his head.

He apparently finds her feet amusing, his fingers running across her toes and underneath. It tickles. She kicks him in the side. "Hold still," she demands and he obeys, hands moving instead to his lap as though he were an innocent child.

All they have for washing up right now is soap, and while she knows that's a terrible thing to use on hair, especially hair that usually is taken care of (taken care of too well), it smells clean and fresh and he doesn't protest as she lathers him up. It's fun, his hair is fun to play with. While not nearly as long as Agnes' or even her own, there's still enough there for her to play with. She remembers putting Alternis' hair in pigtails as a child, and contemplates doing the same now. Just because. He owes her.

"If you wouldn't mind," he says after a moment, once Edea's done styling his hair to her satisfaction, and she realizes he's tilting his head back a little into her touch. "I would like to return the favor one day." He doesn't even flinch when she suddenly pulls on his hair a little too hard.

Now _she_ feels like hiding under the washcloth, aware of just how close they are. "I have a lot of hair, you know."

She can hear the smile in his voice. "I know."

The water seems cold by the time she's finished rinsing out his hair and while she's back there, making sure his back is clean of grime as well, running water especially gently over scars she'd never noticed before. She gets out first, and Ringabel averts his eyes like a true gentleman until she's dressed, albeit still slightly damp. At least she now knows it dries cleanly - the pant leg seems no worse for wear. His clothing on the other hand… she wrinkles her nose at the wall as she hears him dressing.

"You're really going to wear that still?"

"For now, at least." He says, voice muffled slightly as he tugs the loose top back over his torso. "I have a few extra pairs in the room, but this will suffice for tonight."

"Ringabel, it smells rank. Why are you boys so messy?" She complains. "I don't want to smell it all night."

He doesn't ask what she means. She doesn't explain. But once he takes her hand, his fingers wrinkled and cold from the washbin water, she turns to meet his gray eyes. There's still pain there, so much pain she hurts just looking at him, but for now his face is calm. Calmer perhaps than she's seen in a long time, a world or two ago.

"Thank you," he says, and it is sincere as Ringabel ever is.

She frowns. "That wasn't a compliment!" Really. What is he thinking?

But she says nothing more as he leads the way back to the small room they share with their companions.


	3. Chapter 3

Tiz has always been a light sleeper. At home in Norende, he would wake with the dawn and the lambs, because he needed to tend to his flock. On his travels, he tried to wake with the dawn, because he wanted to tend to his friends. Unfortunately, all too often he wakes in the middle of the night for various reasons, such as the guilt that eats up his stomach as he lies alone in the dark, helplessly noting the absence of his brother's breathing beside him. Though he has come to note the breathing of Ringabel, of Agnes and Edea, it's not the same. It will never be the same.

Tonight is one in which he had already woken more than once, first at the heels of terrifying dreams of an untouchable monster, stabbing and choking him until he jerks awake and gasps down enough air to stabilize himself. Second when he hears the pained, gasping sound of his best friend - best male friend - as he stumbles out the door, until it shuts loudly behind him.

Sitting up in bed, Tiz meets Edea's eyes across the room, bright in the moonlight that comes in through the window.

There's understanding there and a little sadness, and it's she who slips out of bed to follow Ringabel tonight.

Tiz stays behind, his covers feeling heavy and too warm across his lap. He can hear more than see Agnes sleeping nearby, and has by now grown familiar with the quiet noises of distress she makes in her sleep. Those noises get louder.

He expects her to wake at any moment. She is sensitive to the feelings of others at times, even while asleep, and because she is still and always will be his shining ray of hope, Tiz slips out of bed so that he can be there she wakes from whatever plagues her tonight. So that she never has to feel alone as he has. As they all have, before.

He's sitting comfortably on the edge of her bed when she wakes some long moments later, a startled noise slipping past her lips, either at the phantom that woke her or the unexpected closeness of the boy.

"Sorry. Good morning," he whispers. There's really no need to speak so softly, as Airy usually doesn't stay in the same room as them. Her light is too bright, and impossible to turn off, she says. It keeps them awake at night, and while it's one thing when there's also a campfire nearby, it's another when the room is otherwise dark. As long as Agnes awakens the crystals, Airy seems to have no problem with a room to herself

Recently, Tiz has been finding it more of a relief than usual.

"Good morning?" Agnes replies, a little confused. She has reason to be, as the sun is still hours away from rising, but her reply is good-natured nonetheless. She blinks up at him in the darkness and though he knows she likely can't see much of his face, he smiles down at her, drawing one knee up to rest his arm on it. "Is something the matter? Did I disturb you?" She asks.

"Not at all," his free hand plays along the edge of her nightdress' sleeve. "Ringabel did." He pauses, and then continues, somewhat flustered, not sure of what he's implying. "I mean, he just- he stepped outside, and it was the door that woke me."

"Ringabel?" She props herself on one elbow, and looks toward the door. It seems very quiet with just the two of them. "Is he all right?"

Tiz knows that he isn't. But he probably will be. Right now, Edea's with him. And right now…

"He'll be fine," Tiz says, because that much is true. It's all that can be said. That with time, Ringabel will heal as much as he's able to, as much as any of them can. But right now, with things the way they are, they all have a lot of healing to do before they will ever be all right.

Agnes especially. Tiz's hand finds it way down her arm to shyly, hesitantly, take her hand. She's been through a lot, physically and mentally, and he'll do anything to support his beautiful ray of hope. Even if it's something as simple as sitting next to her in the dark when she wakes from her nightmares, just so she knows that she isn't alone.

She decides to sit up, and her hand stays in his through the movement, warm and soft from her years protected and sheltered in the temple. "Should we go after them, perhaps?"

Tiz shakes his head, his hair tousled more than usual after a night of tossing around. "No. Edea will bring him back when he's ready. And you need to get some rest, aren't you still tired?" They had wanted to give Agnes some rest between awakening crystals. It was always so taxing, he was always so worried that one day she would end up fainting from the sheer strain of it.

There is also the troubling matter of their all-too-recent discussion with the Yulyana Sage. He knows that's taken its toll on her, the overwhelming guilt and the crushing doubt that's settled on her thin shoulders. The invisible weight makes her seem smaller than she already is, and it's a weight that Tiz would gladly take at least half of, if he could.

And yet, she is as stubborn as any of them. "I'll be fine, Tiz." She says. And there's a pause before she continues. "However, the rest is… appreciated."

Acceptable, even? He smiles to himself at that private joke. "If you want to get some more sleep, just let me know. I'll stop bothering you." He's probably mothering her a bit too much; Agnes is older than he is, and can take care of herself. But he sincerely enjoys caring for others, and especially caring for her. When they had first met, Agnes had been a little… clueless. Very inexperienced with the world. Anyone would be naturally worried about her. But over time, that worry has changed, hasn't it?

She has to think on it, though she shakes her head, loosely braided hair swinging over her shoulder. "It is no bother. But perhaps more sleep will be nice." And though she moves to lie back down, there's some hesitation in her actions before she says. "Tiz, …"

"I'll stay here." He promises her, as though there were any chance of him being elsewhere.

Agnes shakes her head where it's cushioned on her pillow. "You must take care of yourself as much as you take care of us." She insists, and her hand is small, but surprisingly strong as she tugs him down.

Tiz barely catches himself with his other hand before he falls on top of her, a surprised, embarrassed cry getting past his lips. "W-what?" His face is suddenly burning and the room is suddenly warm, though she does not seem to have noticed.

Or perhaps she has. There's strain in her voice as she continues. "You... must rest as well." And he knows that she cares about him - about all of them - but wonders why she chooses to be so focused on him now of all times, when it's her who's in most need!

His voice cracks. "I, ah… I'll be fine, Agnes. I'll be right here."

"I know you will be here," and her voice is soft and gentle like a lamb's wool, and his heart jumps painfully. Her other hand has found his in the darkness, and though he swallows hard, he allows himself to relax just slightly, curling up slightly on his side next to her in the biggest bed in the room. After a moment, Agnes turns to face him, fingers curled around his.

She smiles, and it shines in the moonlight.

"Forgive me," she says, and there's a slight laugh to her voice that makes him ache to hear. "But I worry about you, too. Though I know you do not want me to, it's only natural, is it not?"

"Yeah," he admits, his voice soft and quiet across the scant inches that separate them. "You're so kind, Agnes." His eyes slip shut for just a moment. He is tired from lack of sleep, after all, and her bed is very comfortable and soft, the exact reason it's been designated as hers.

He feels the gentlest of motions against his forehead, a feeling of wings brushing against his temples, and his eyes fly open, though he doesn't dare move. Agnes has moved ever closer, and now her forehead leans gently against his. He's so close he can count every single last eyelash that rests against her cheek and remarkably, she's still smiling.

"I thank you, Tiz." She says, and his chest aches again. Her breath is warm and he wants nothing more than to take all of the sadness that he hears in her voice and bury it into his own heart.

Tiz swallows hard before he answers, his voice soft. "I should be thanking you, Agnes." For everything. For giving him hope again, a ray of light to focus on during the darkest time of his life. Not only that, but she led him to Ringabel and Edea, and the four of them together have filled each other's days with laughter and love despite the hardships, the pain, and the different worlds they have to face.

And even if the future seems uncertain, especially in the face of what they've just learned about the different worlds, the past and the possible future, Tiz knows one thing will never waver.

He sucks in a deep breath and exhales it a little too shakily, noting how warm Agnes is beside him, even with the barrier of her blanket between them. He has always slept better with the warmth of another person next to him, even back in Norende before it all ended, when nightmares were few.

"Agnes," he says, unsure of himself, and the woman's eyelashes flutter as though she had been drifting off. Perhaps she had. And he hesitates for a moment before leaning back just enough to kiss her on the forehead, lips pressing tenderly for just a moment.

That's… that's enough. At least for now.

As he settles back against the pillow, his cheeks burning, as Agnes opens her brown eyes again to look at him with a startled gaze and a face that feels hot at their close distance, he feels her hand shift, and their fingers intertwine. It's an intimate movement, for her.

He doesn't know what he'd expected otherwise. Agnes isn't like Edea; she doesn't lash out to against unwanted physical affection with punches. Her strength is internal rather than external, but just as strong.

She makes a noise, a little embarrassed noise not unlike the ones he's heard in the past when they were discussing such things as that horrible bravo bikini, or sex appeal, or when Ringabel made one of his more unacceptable comments. It makes him smile, even if he's blushing. He thinks he might hear the voices of Ringabel and Edea outside the door, and though it gives him pause, they soon fade.

His heart is pounding too much to afford him sleep, and he instead lies in comfortable silence with Agnes, listening to the sound of her breathing, their hands flexing every so often, her fingers entwined with his.

In the darkness, Tiz is thinking, and judging by the way that he can see the light reflecting in Agnes' eyes, so is she. It's a comfortable silence, and it stays for a while as he thinks.

The crystals, their world… those come first. To awaken the world and save it from the suffocating darkness. It is a task that would not be easy for anyone, less so a Vestal who believed herself all alone in the world. It's a task he wants to help her with as much as he can, and if that means staying beside her at night so that she can rest, or holding her hands to support her, physically or mentally, he'll do it. Maybe the task is too big for a sleepy shepherd like himself, but it's one he'll take on.

Not just for Agnes, but the others. Ringabel may be older than him, but Tiz has spent so long as the older brother, it's hard to let go of old habits. He doesn't mind being treated as the little brother, and he finds it nice at times when he's having difficulty with his nightmares, but especially as of late, it's Tiz who wants to comfort the other boy. Let him know he's not alone. That he can talk to someone. That he's trusted, and believed in.

Edea is independent. She's like the sister he'd never had, someone who's there to tease him in the same breath that she's worrying about him. Encouraging him. But even she needs encouragement at times, and if he's slowly learning just how to give her that encouragement, then all the better.

In the quiet darkness, peace slowly overtakes him. He leans forward to press another kiss against Agnes' forehead, this one more gentle than the last, less shy than the last, and murmurs a soft goodnight to her as he settles down to try and get more sleep. His forehead presses against hers, and their breaths intermingle warmly. He'll probably never hear the end of it from Ringabel and Edea if they're caught like this, and he has a feeling that the courage he's built in the darkness might shy away in the night, but right now he's peaceful, and Agnes seems peaceful and happy, and that is really all that matters to him.

Shepherds are there to tend to their flock, and that's what he intends to do to the very end, if need be.


	4. Chapter 4

Agnes lies awake a little longer, finding herself unable to go back to sleep while half of their group is still gone. It's odd. Though she had originally considered herself independent, alone, and had tried to remain so, she has come to truly depend and care for all of them.

Tiz's hand is warm and solid, and while his palm may be a little rougher than her own, a little scarred from the years of manual labor during his life in Norende, it's pleasant all the same. She.. likes being able to hold his hand. They have only just begun to do so, in these quiet moments when words are not enough.

She truly appreciates all that he and the others have done for her. Tiz has been there beside her for nearly her entire journey, from the very beginning at the Great Chasm, and she knows he'll be there until the very end. And here now he is with her as well, stretched out lightly over the covers she huddles under, his hair splayed out on her extra pillow, while he… snores.

She supposes that she shouldn't giggle at him while he's asleep. It's not very nice. But while she is allowed ample time to rest between awakening the Crystals, the others are not so fortunate. She is glad for the times when they are able to enjoy some peace. She truly does not mind watching over them as they watch over her.

Her own mind is working too much to make it easy to go back to sleep, but she closes her eyes all the time, listening the soothing, peaceful sound that is Tiz's breathing, and she thinks. Thinks about the future and the path she has chosen to walk. It all seemed so simple, but the more worlds they visit, the more Holy Pillars, the more changes that she sees, the more she doubts. She feels weak for doing so, as though she has failed as a Vestal if she cannot achieve this one task, but the words and the wisdom of her friends is something she has come to take very seriously.

Still, if she were to turn away from her chosen path now, what would that mean for the people and the things they've had to sacrifice- would it all be in vain? What would become of their future if she…

Agnes is pulled away from the dread building in the pit of her stomach, the turmoil of her thoughts as the door opens, bringing it with the sound of her two dear friends.

"Ugh, I'm telling you, Ringabel. You better not punish us the rest of the night by staying in those clothes," Edea is trying to be quiet, but the annoyance in her voice makes her louder, and Agnes feels Tiz's hand tighten in her own for a second as he wakes.

"No need to be concerned. A gentleman must smell his best, after all. I'll change if it bothers you so much. Or perhaps I shall sleep in-" Ringabel's voice follows, a little tired, and perhaps strained, but he sounds fine, better than he has of late.

The voices stop abruptly, and Agnes remembers a little too late that she and Tiz are perhaps in a bit of a compromising situation. She turns over to look at the door, though it's impossible to make out the expression on either person's face, with the light shining from behind them.

"Look at you!" It's Edea who speaks first, her voice rising with glee, all semblance of quiet gone. "Getting cozy while we're gone, huh?" She crosses the room and joins Agnes and Tiz in the big bed with a hop, sitting near their feet. She looks excited.

Tiz has roused completely now, sitting up to confront Edea. "It- it's not what you think!" He squeaks out, and Agnes finds herself blushing, because their hands are still joined for now at least, and because she doesn't know what they might have thought.

Ringabel joins in on the teasing. "And? What exactly do we we think it is?" The older man shuts the door behind him, drowning the room in darkness again. Agnes' eyes are still sufficiently adjusted to the darkness, however, and she watches with ease as Ringabel crosses over to their packs piled in the corner, nearly tripping on a discarded blanket as he goes. He seems less willing than usual to tease them and she doesn't whether to be relieved or concerned.

"It is nothing," she offers for Tiz, because it seems that he may need some help. His hand is very sweaty in hers, and twitching a little. It's so dark, Edea has not noticed their joined hands yet. Hopefully, she won't. "We were merely resting, is that not right?"

"Resting together?" Agnes loves Edea dearly, but the other girl's voice is teasing and light, and while gentle, that sort of teasing is a sort that Agnes is still not familiar with. She doesn't know what to make of the comment, or how to respond in an appropriate manner.

She doesn't have to. Tiz is in the same situation, after all. And Tiz has learned how to handle Edea and Ringabel much better than she has. "We fell asleep waiting for you two! What took you so long, anyway?"

It's Edea's turn to stammer, and Ringabel offers no help as he has slipped behind one of the large privacy screens in the corner of the room they use when changing in and out of night clothes. "Ringabel here was a mess, so we - I made him take a bath. You didn't want him to keep smelling like that, trust me on this one, Tiz. We would have ended up throwing him out the window."

And Agnes trusts Edea's opinion on this. Edea is much more knowledgeable about what is and isn't acceptable to deal with when it comes to what people wear and how they might smell. It makes the conversation they were having when they returned make sense, and why Ringabel is changing in the middle of the night.

She also knows it is not the first time that any of them have had to change their clothes in the middle of night. Waking up in the middle of nightmares, time after time, endlessly through the worst nights can easily make one's clothing uncomfortable with sweat and tears. Her hand squeezes Tiz's.

It is Agnes who speaks up now. "And you joined him?"

There is a pause as they all process her question, and Agnes realizes too late that she didn't quite mean it like that.

"Uh... " Edea says, very articulately. She is saved from answering by the very man himself, who sits on the opposite of the bed, closer to Tiz. Edea is right; even at this distance Agnes can tell he smells very nice, and his hair is freshly washed, falling limply down his face and neck. It is not an entirely bad look, she supposes.

"She supervised," Ringabel says, and he swings his feet up to the bed, leaning back against the wall beside the other boy. He continues on before anyone can interject. "You don't mind if we join you two, do we?"

Tiz opens his mouth to answer, but closes it, and she sees the movement in the darkness as he turns to her. It is her bed, after all. In answer, Agnes shakes her head.

"I do not mind."

Because the two are dear friends, and people she cares for deeply. They are going through this together, and though their personalities, their histories, and their opinions on their path may vary wildly, it does not change the fact that they have all been scarred by the journey. If Agnes could, she would happily erase the scars on their hearts the same way she wishes to erase the Great Chasm. To ease their minds and their very souls.

Perhaps she has not that power yet, but she can at least allow them some small comfort, even if that comfort comes in the form of relaxing together in the middle of the night. There is power in numbers, after all.

Tiz accepts her answer, and Edea takes it as a chance to get settled as well, going so far as to climb under the blankets with Agnes. She doesn't mind. It is Edea, after all, and the girl has become like a sister by now. It's nice to be so close.

And they fall quiet as they settle in.

While Agnes does sleep in the biggest, the softest bed in the room, it is not so big to easily accommodate four fully grown teenagers quickly turning into adults (unlike the bed Agnes remembers Edea and herself sharing during their brief stays in the Eternia Central Command). Still, it's cozy, and once they figure out where to put limbs, and whose hand goes where, it is even more so, and she doesn't mind the closeness.

Instead she welcomes it. Edea is snuggling down into the blankets and on her other side, Tiz's fingers are still intertwined with her own, firm and with purpose. Ringabel has taken it upon himself to take a spare blanket from one of the discarded beds, lest he and Tiz freeze before dawn (or so he says), and is settling wordlessly against Tiz's back.

"So," Edea says, and her words are muffled by the pillow she's using. "You better get some rest Agnes."

In the darkness, she frowns.

"I will be fine, Edea. Thank you for your concern. But I am not the only one who should be resting." She is the Wind Vestal, and this is her duty. But these people have willingly joined her cause, and they are her friends. She's learned to be concerned for them as well, and the fights they go through are long and hard, sometimes feeling endless. Her free hand slips under the blanket to find Edea's, and she finds comfort in the other woman's grip, even if it is not so gentle as Tiz's. "All of you should be resting as well."

"Don't worry about us," Ringabel's voice lacks some of its usual inflection, and is solemn, though strained. "Our job is not nearly important as yours, Lady Vestal."

"Yeah, it's okay, Agnes." Tiz's voice is very close, and somewhat quiet. She's tucked neatly between him and Edea, so he does not need to speak very loudly for them to hear. "We'll take care of ourselves."

She shakes her head. "That is not what I mean." It's unacceptable, she thinks privately. "You are my friends, and I will watch over you the same as you watch over me."

To that, there is silence, and the sound of the bed shifting underneath the weight of four bodies. She thinks Edea is drifting off, lulled to sleep by a warm, comfortable bed and the presence of her friends. Agnes doesn't know how the girl can sleep in nearly any circumstance, but it's the quirks of her friends that make them endearing.

"Well," Ringabel's voice breaks the silence, and it's dulled with sleepiness. In the dark she can see him on the other side of Tiz, tugging the covers over his shoulders as he settles in, a little too big to fit in with the rest of them. "We all best be getting some more sleep while we still can. I've no doubt that Airy will have us awaken the last Crystal before sundown tonight." Agnes notes the hint of bitterness in his tone, but says nothing.

"Very well," she agrees, and after a moment of thought, finally untangles her hand from Tiz's. It would be impractical to try to sleep while holding it, even though the comfort and warmth is invaluable. Instead, she lifts his hand and kisses the back of his calloused fingers. "Goodnight Tiz," she says.

"Agnes?" His voice is quiet but shocked, perhaps embarrassed. But she squeezes his hand before tucking it at his side and he says nothing more.

"And you, Edea." She continues, and her cheeks are growing warm now because she was not raised to show affection very easily. But Edea was, and Edea does. So Agnes returns that favor, turning to kiss the other girl's hand before tucking that inside the blanket as well. "Goodnight and thank you."

Her only response is a muffled groan, Edea already mostly asleep. But there's a smile on the girl's face that Agnes can only just make out in the dim light.

Finally, she turns back the other direction. "And you, Ringabel." She holds out a hand.

There's a pause. Of course he would have seen what she was doing. "Is that not the job of the gentleman?" He asks, but he places his hand in hers anyway. She appreciates his playing along with her whims.

"Perhaps, but just this once. After all, I would not be here if it were not for you. All of you." And she kisses the back of Ringabel's hand as well. When she releases it, he pulls it back gingerly, and holds it against his chest for a moment.

"Goodnight, Agnes," he tells her, and his voice is soft. There's a sadness to his voice that's painful to hear, but a sadness she feels all too often herself. She knows enough not to press on it, but she wishes that someday, in the near future, his voice is free from that pain.

"Goodnight," she says, and she finally settles back into the bed, sandwiched firmly between her friends. It is… different. But it's warm, and comforting, and she slips back into sleep faster than she has in a long time.

Some nights are better than others. This night is one of them.

* * *

Thank you for reading!


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